


Like A Deer In The Crosshairs

by orphan_account



Series: The Hunting [1]
Category: Olympics RPF, Swimming RPF
Genre: Age Difference, M/M, Underage - Freeform, Unrequited, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-27
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-02-06 10:10:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1854190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael catches Jason's eye during training camp for the Sydney Games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like A Deer In The Crosshairs

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't seen much of this pairing that deals with the age gap between Jason and Michael so I thought I'd try and fill the void just a little bit. Enjoy.

* * *

It happens in the blink of an eye, a measure of time barely noticeable to anyone, but Jason notices it nonetheless. Jason takes one look at sweet, innocent, little fifteen-year-old Michael Phelps standing on deck and makes a conscious decision.

"Oh, yeah,” Jason thinks. “I'm gonna fuck the livin' daylights outta that poor kid.”

It's a thought that stays with him no matter how hard he tries to ignore it. He knows he shouldn't think such things. Michael is young. Fifteen. Practically a baby; the youngest and most naïve of all of the American swimmers training for Sydney. But that doesn't seem to stop Jason's inner animal. That snarling beast called Desire makes itself known every time Jason looks at the kid.

He'll see Michael standing on deck with his big brown Bambi eyes, his 90's Caesar haircut, and his bottom teeth still bearing the crisscross of dental braces and something inside of him just wants to do all kinds of despicable things. He wants.... He wants to,

Kiss.

Bite.

Fuck.

Claim.

Own.

And then do it all over again.

And again.

What makes it even worse is the fact that when Michael walks past Jason in the locker room all the older man can smell for a good five minutes after Michael's gone on his way is chlorine and boy-sweat and that wet, sea salt scent that comes off the ocean after a heavy storm. Mixed all together like that Jason starts to identify it as the smell of puberty hitting an adolescent boy's body hard and causing all kinds of chaos.

It makes him wonder if Michael's ever popped wood before; if Michael's ever woken in the middle of the night, fat little dick throbbing hard and blurting precome out into the space between his underwear and his skin, sticky and hot. Jason wonders how long it took before Michael realized how to take care of himself, how to slip his hand inside his Y-fronts and wrap his fingers around his youthful hardness and jerk until he spurted his nut, hard and fast and trembling in a way that would leave him drowsy and boneless.

Jason can't stop thinking about it and even thought it's driving him crazy, he doesn't act on it. He bides his time. The Sydney Games come and go. Days pass faster than they should and before he knows it, training camp for Athens is upon them. Michael arrives, standing tall and confident at nineteen-years-old but with those same Bambi eyes and Jason can't help but chuckle to himself.

"Oh, yeah,” Jason says to himself. “I'm gonna fuck the livin' daylights outta that kid.”


End file.
